Tag: Joshua Tree

Heading north on sixty-two in a slate grey gas-saving Prius, an episode of “The voice of the desert”, The Desert Oracle on the stereo. The sun rises over Desert Hot Springs and the Coachella valley to my right, bathing the imposing east-facing slopes of the snowcapped San Bernardinos in early morning warmth. On both sides of the road, a sea of bright light yellow blooms blankets the valley floor. It’s like this everywhere, drawing crowds of wildflower chasers, like the gazillion pollinating insects buzzing about, taking their cues from the sexy colors on display. I’m looking not to run into them, the crowds that is, because avoiding nature’s exuberant spring show is impossible.

I pretty darn near succeeded; the trail was almost lonely, gave me plenty time to do what I like to do on these walks which is think. What would it have been like to live out here before the internet and National Parks? Is that a Joshua Tree or a Mojave Yucca? They claim to have recorded the first image of a black hole, what does that mean? Is the next step images of a parallel universe? Like Tatooine, or whatever the Star Wars galaxy was named? (That’s on my mind because apparently scenes of the original trilogy were shot in these parts), Or is it a hoax, like they say the Apollo moon landing was? Does it confirm or refute the existence of a god (a god of your choice)?

In the end, here is what I think I know: tomorrow the sun will rise a minute or so sooner that today and set a minute or so later because the earth’s axis is tilted, which is why we have seasons, i.e. variations in temperatures, which is why we have life cycles on this very unique planet of ours. And in the springtime, in the otherwise arid climate of the southern California mountains, it’s a real feast to ramble and absorb the energy emanating from this orgy of renewal. It’s miraculous really.

I kept walking (actually, for full disclosure, I drove ten minutes from the Lost Horse Mine trailhead to the Ryan mountain trailhead, and then kept walking). I’d seen my fill of joshua trees (see previous entry) but my legs were rearing for some more exertion. Must have been the need to burn all the extra energy I got from the generous dose of honey I spiked the thermos of tea with, which I had just sipped sitting in a rare shaded spot, on the trunk of a broad, lazy leaning joshua. Or perhaps I was all charged up from the breezy weather. Or I felt like I had to reach a certain level of exhaustion before calling it a day, having paid a whopping thirty bucks to enter the park. Beats a gym membership, but I’m used to walking for free.

At any rate, if I was statically charged when I started up the short climb, I got juiced to the bones by the time I rambled back to the car, hanging on to my hat.

I’d like to think that I can show my erudition by claiming I listened to a certain Irish band during the longish drive from Altadena to Joshua Tree National Park. I didn’t. That musical memory only emerged a couple of days later, thanks to the not-random-at-all algorithmic nudge of a certain search engine. But I’m listening to it now and I have to admit that the flashbacks don’t come flooding, and for good reason; in the late eighties I had turned my back on rock, dug my head in the sand–under the shade of a joshua tree?–to explore the jazz universe, and missed the Irish invasion. Regrets? Nah. Not at all. If a life can have a soundtrack, a musical theme, mine would absolutely feature Monk on piano; Trane, Bird, Lacy on reeds; Dizzy and Lester on trumpet; Mingus with a twenty minute bass solo; two or three drummers: Elvin, Jack and Max; Yusef on flute; Don on clarinet; you can stop me anytime, or maybe you can’t, but anyhow…Now, they might play a beefed up version of “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” just to get things warmed up, you never know, I’d leave that up to them, I’m no musician. Actually, I’d have to slip in a request, since we’re talking about my life, my lyrical memories, and get some dangerously-slow-tempoed reggae in the lineup, “Stir it Up” maybe, and some guest appearances, like Claude singing “Tu Verras”, Abbey with “Throw it Away”, Lady Day with anything she damn pleases. You see what I mean, this could go on, and I haven’t even brought up FZ, Duke or Horace. But this isn’t my life, and the only soundtrack that accompanies these walks is that which the shitty microphone on the iphone captures, which on this glorious early spring day in the high desert, was the sound of high winds beating on everything standing. A wind that was chilly enough to be pleasant while walking in the sun, but quickly got cold while lunching in the shade of a joshua tree. A reminder that, even when this landscape is picture perfect, surviving in it is, in so many ways, a challenge. The Cahuilla managed, making thorough use of scant resources, including the notorious trees, long before Johnny Lang lost his horse, discovered the Lost Horse Mine and began digging for gold in the area.

What I’d like to know, is how long have these trees been here? They look prehistoric, or timeless, and walking among them was like walking along a procession of creatures frozen in twisty, often leaning, sometimes broken but always unique poses: an orchestra conductor, an old man bent under the years, a policeman directing traffic, a yoga instructor, rock climber, and my favorite, the one I chose to rest under, a hiker lying in the grass, legs crossed, back leaning against a joshua tree.

In conclusion, with a nod to those Irish rockers, I climbed a high-ish mountain (see next video), I ran–okay trudged–through the fields of cacti and spiky trees, but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for because what I’m looking for may be a trail that never ends, traversing ever-changing sceneries, evoking constant renewal, new and old stories of all the people, all the valleys and mountains, the oceans and rivers, the birds and the trees of the universe.Keep walking.

As can be expected of any museum that earns its name, the Noah Purifoy Museum is too much to take in during one short walk through, and certainly too detailed and absorbing and downright wonderful to attempt to describe here, or show in the video above. So, we’ll call this “First Impressions”, and vow to return, before time does its work on the art and erases it, before sun, rain, wind erode it, return it to the sandy desert floor so that it may, one can always hope, in turn become source of nutrition for future generations of creative spirits that feed from the earth. And may those spirits, one may also hope, prevail in the end.